


The Metronome

by Icarus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Slytherin, The Quidditch Pitch: Slytherin Common Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-16
Updated: 2006-06-16
Packaged: 2018-10-25 18:07:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10769580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarus/pseuds/Icarus
Summary: "Lord what?" Lucius laughed. At sixteen, it seemed the Malfoy heir had everything, but he knew what was out of reach. An unknown dark wizard offers him the impossible.





	The Metronome

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Thank you to Underlucius for the beta review. This is Goseaward's fault. We got on the subject of music and piano months ago and I wound up with the image of Lucius Malfoy, practicing on the harpsicord, surrounded by his life of privilege. I wondered... why would he give it up? Why follow and be humiliated by Voldemort? He already has everything.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* * *

Afternoon sun pooled on the plush oriental rug, warming burgundies and greens to a soft glow. The open window beside Lucius let in barely a breath of wind, playing with the curtains in an unkind tease of freedom. Behind him books lined mahogany shelves, interspersed with artfully arranged family trinkets, most of which were cursed, the work of centuries of dark wizards. The deadly displays were interrupted here and there with low tables and the occasional heavily framed mirror. A candelabra on the harpsichord was unlit, given the lovely summer's day, while a metronome beside it clicked an insistent, steady beat. 

Lucius sat straight-backed, his fingers poised over the keys as his tutor paced the room, nose in the air, hands folded thoughtfully behind his back. 

"That was better, Mr. Malfoy, much better," he crooned, buttons stretched over his potbelly. "Let's have it once again." 

The subtle slump of Lucius' broad shoulders was barely detectable, an unheard sigh, though his eyes remained fixed on the music in front of him. 

He was a tall young man, all elbows and angles, with the uncomfortable apologetic manner of one who'd grown very suddenly over the summer and was still surprised. With a tap of Lucius' wand the notes crawled like insects across the page, tumbling over each other until they reformed into the beginning of the piece. His eyes narrowed as a final quarter note, tardy, scrambled into place. 

_Click, click, click…._ The metronome set the pace. 

With cold, crisp precision, Lucius' hands floated over the keys, his body unmoving, mouth a firm disciplined line. His teacher's head bobbed; one finger circled, mapping the notes in the air. 

Lucius completed the crescendo and the final chord, finally seeming to breathe as he glanced up, steady gaze wary, but hopeful. Sometimes he was released a few minutes early. He'd had ten years of this weekly torment. 

The man nodded. "Good, good." He reached over and tapped the sheet music with his wand and the notes scrambled in circles again. "Now let's try an _adagio_ , something with a little more, hmm, feeling for a young man like you, eh? A little more evocative?" 

He gave Lucius a tight-lipped smile completely at odds with the praise. He always asked for more _feeling_. The metronome continued its steady beat. 

Jaw set, Lucius' glance flicked only briefly at the window, as the curtains stirred once again. 

~*~*~

His tutor had been effusive and insincere in his compliments of Lucius' artistry before Lucius could escape.

His second-best broom in hand, Lucius ran down a long hall of scowling chiaroscuro portraits, heavy footsteps echoing. He deftly stunned the Aleovuncular fern outside his father's library as it grabbed after him, turned the corner to the front door… 

…just in time to find his mother in front of the hall mirror, her gloved hands removing a hatpin as she shook her head, fluffing a fall of silver-blonde hair. She arranged it delicately around bird-like features and stuck the pin into a house-elf, which yelped, "Thank you, mistress!" She ignored it as her eyes caught sight of Lucius in the mirror, paused behind her. 

"Ah, Lucius, there you are…." 

He wiped all expression from his face as he stepped forward, bent to kiss her cheek, and carefully edged around her towards the door, murmuring smoothly, "Hello mummy, I'm going outside to - " 

"No you're not," she cut him off and gestured for him to follow as she strode into the manor without a backward glance. "I can't have you disappearing now, dear. Your aunt Elise and the Blacks are visiting this evening." 

Lucius' face fell as he stopped in his tracks. "No mummy, Avery is…." 

"You can practice your Quidditch later. I'm sure you'll make Chaser _this_ year at least. You're a such a talented boy." Lucius' eyes shifted away. No one made the Quidditch team in their sixth year, and he'd grown too big to be Seeker now so what was the point? 

With an irritated sigh he trailed in her wake, resigned, adjusting his grip on his broom. They made their way through a maze of hallways towards the kitchens. 

Stepping into the kitchens there was a sudden scramble of house-elfs quickly punishing themselves as they caught sight of her. His mother ran a tight ship. She extracted her wand from her handbag with a flourish, and lists of work scrolled down from the air, along with her specifications for the evening's hors d'oeuvres. Lucius peered around at a house-elf's series of mixing bowls and scooped up a fingerful of cake batter. His mother slapped his hand away. "Don't spoil your dinner." 

"I won't," he said, ignoring her as he licked his finger. He snapped up an apple and polished it on his sleeve then took a large bite. 

"Are you certain you're not a centaur?" She smiled fondly at him, fingernails straightening his long blond hair. She tucked a strand behind his ear. "You do nothing but eat these days." 

He grinned at her, mouth still full. He quickly swallowed his bite. "So… the Blacks are coming over?" he prompted, eyebrows raised. "Including…?" 

" _Mrs_ Black," his mother said slyly. 

"And Bella?" he offered. 

"We have Narcissa in mind for you actually." 

"Ugh," Lucius groaned, looking away. 

"No whinging." 

"She's so…" Skinny. And flat-chested. "… boring. They're _both_ Blacks." 

"Yes, well unfortunately Bellatrix has saddled herself with a bit of a reputation," his mother sniffed. 

Not to mention a body that wouldn't quit. Lucius folded his arms and leaned back against the countertop. He'd be the envy of Hogwarts if he scored Bellatrix Black. The sultry Bellatrix… tied to him for life. It was an appealing thought. 

"… the Blacks are going to have a terrible time finding a match for her," his mother was saying. 

"People just don't like it that she's attractive." Lucius examined his nails. Gorgeous was the word. "Not to mention… mmm… vivacious and fun-loving." He phrased it very, very carefully. 

His mother wasn't fooled. "She's far too much 'fun' I am told." 

She seized Lucius' chin in a vice-like grip and looked fiercely up into his face, her cold blue eyes sparking as they met his, pencilled brows raised. A prickle went down the back of his neck. "Promise me that you're not sleeping with her, my darling. Are you?" 

Lucius yanked his chin free, affronted. " _No!_ " 

Though not for lack of trying. 

"Good." She seemed satisfied, and nodded once. "At least with Narcissa you will know that your children - " The corner of Lucius' eyes flinched. " - will actually be yours." 

_That's because nobody wants to fuck that twig_ , Lucius thought, but didn't dare say. He shifted from one foot to the other. He was compared to centaur, told he was growing like a horse, and now his family discussed him like a prized stud being sent out to breed. 

"Lucius." His mother brought him up short, her expression far too knowing, and he glowered at her. "You'll thank me later." Then she swatted his bottom like he was still a nine-year-old and shoved him in the direction of his rooms. 

"Now get dressed. Mr Clavier has had wonderful things to say about your playing. You have your father's talent." Lucius rolled his eyes. She patted his shoulder. "We look forward to hearing you play this evening." 

_What?_ His mouth fell open in dismay, but he decided not to argue. Instead he pointed out, "Avery's coming over tonight." 

He managed to keep the smile off his face. It was a subtle revenge, but effective. 

She frowned. "Lucius. He's really not the sort that you should be…." 

"I cannot cancel," he insisted, pressing his advantage. "Father is still negotiating with his family and if we…." 

"Fine, fine! Yes I know," she interrupted irritably. She put a hand to her temples. "What this world is coming to that we associate with the Averys of all people. He can come," she held up a finger, "but he must wait in the kitchens." 

It was a gross insult but Avery wouldn't know any better. He'd just eat. Lucius nodded and slung his broom over his shoulder, grateful for the coming reprieve. 

~*~*~

Firelight sparkled on wineglasses and silver trays floated through the air as Lucius played for a rapt audience. The formal over-layer of his robes had a stiff collar, which chafed a little as his mother's friends clapped. He bobbed his head in a small, mocking bow, and attempted a smile - though it probably came out as more of a sneer. Of course they didn't notice.

"Wonderful, simply wonderful!" his aunt Elise enthused, clapping tiny hands in front of her large belly, earrings bouncing. 

"He has his father's talent. I always told you," another said sagely, nodding her large beak of a nose. 

"The spitting image of his father at that age too," his mother agreed, smiling. The other women concurred, and Lucius waited patiently for them to stop discussing him as if he weren't present. 

Two of their other guests were lost in conversation, ignoring him as they clapped somewhat absently. "I'm telling you, all the signs point to it: there's another Dark Wizard in the offing. My ravens are very disturbed, very much so, as they haven't been since Grindelwald." 

"My cards are never wrong," the other added, bobbing her head. "I'm getting the Tower almost every day. Change. Destruction, I say." 

Lucius scowled at the inattentive witches in irritation, offended. 

"Yes, that was quite lovely, my boy," Mrs Black said. She captured his attention as she leaned forward to accept another hors d'oeuvre. Her long nails scraped the silver tray and she sized him up with dark, acquisitive eyes. He dismissed the other two witches as irrelevant. 

She had long black hair like her daughter Bellatrix, and wore red robes with a deep, plunging neckline that revealed a bit too much of a pair of sagging breasts. Lucius politely kissed her hand, keeping his gaze on her face, noting dark brown circles under deep-set eyes, heavily rouged lips and a sad lingering trace of wilted beauty. As his mother nattered on about his accomplishments, his top marks in his Owls, his skill at Transfiguration, he cringed inwardly and wondered if maybe Narcissa might be the better option after all. 

He asked to be excused, allowed his aunt Elise to comment (yet again) on how handsome he'd grown - "such shoulders on the boy! Why I remember when he was just a little thing on his first broom…" - and then finally escaped, striding through the back halls. He tore off the uncomfortable over-robe on the way to the kitchens and tossed it to a house-elf, leaving a struggling lump on the floor. 

Avery was already there, a spoonful of custard halfway to his mouth, frozen in tableau as if surprised to see Lucius in his own home. Lucius briefly marvelled at the stupidity of his friends. 

"Ready?" 

The sun was setting as the two of them escaped to the Malfoy lawns, back-lit black against an orange sky. As their brooms rose, the large dot of the Quaffle flew back and forth between them. 

The shadow that was Lucius suddenly seized the ball and tore off for the forest, leaning low, ponytail streaming behind him. A laughing Avery, stockier but more agile, spun about and quickly gained ground. 

~*~*~

From the edge of the forest Lucius' home seemed a dark collection of buildings in the distance, like a small city. The two boys caught their breath, panting and laughing. They hovered on their brooms in midair, both relaxed and energized. Lucius had managed to hold onto the Quaffle for once and tossed it from one hand to another.

"It went rather well," he said smugly. He spun the Quaffle between his fingertips. "The recital, I mean. They all say I have my father's talent." 

Avery laughed, narrow black eyes squinting at him. "A lot of bollocks that is. You've got a tin ear, Lucius. My uncle owns a _cow_ with more musical sense than you." 

Lucius paused briefly. Then continued tossing the Quaffle from hand to hand. He never knew if he was more offended or amused by Avery. Although in this case he was right. 

Lucius decided he was mostly amused today. 

He tossed Avery the Quaffle, though he added, "By the way, my family is negotiating a possible marriage contract. It's still in the works of course…." Lucius paused to let this sink in. 

"With who?" 

"The Blacks." 

" _Bellatrix_ Black?!" Avery's jaw fell gratifyingly. 

"They're still cobbling together the details." And Lucius was sure he could talk his mother into the prettier sister. Malfoys didn't accept second best. 

Avery rolled his eyes in envy. "Now it's official: Lucius Malfoy has got everything." 

"Well. Maybe I should try her out first; make sure she's everything she's meant to be," Lucius drawled. 

Avery threw the Quaffle at him, hard. "Fuck you!" But Lucius caught it easily, chuckling. 

Avery hovered lower on his broom, casting a quick glance over his shoulders. "You don't, er, think your dad has a way to watch you all the way out here do you?" he asked in a hushed tone. 

Lucius was mildly amused at the thought of his father having that much imagination. The man was interested in nothing but Arithmancy. His mother on the other hand…. "No," he wrinkled his nose. "I doubt it." 

Avery lowered his voice still further, moving his broom a little closer. "I have a connection you might want to meet." He wiped his upper lip nervously. He was sweating. "A wizard." 

"Unlike us," Lucius snorted, though his curiosity was piqued. He took in Avery's uncharacteristic nervousness with a sharp glance. 

"Like none you've ever met," Avery exhaled. 

"Oh?" 

"The name's Tom Riddle." Avery paused, his eager eyes searching Lucius' face as if seeking some response. "Though that's supposed to be hush-hush." 

Lucius frowned. The name did sound familiar. "Tom Riddle… Tom… wait. Didn't he work for that junk shop - Borgin and Burkes?" It had been years. 

"That's no junk shop." Avery's eyes widened. "It's the best dark artefact store in Knockturn Alley!" 

But Lucius was already shaking his head sadly. "My father says it's rubbish. And nothing compared to what my family alone owns." Not to mention the Black family heirlooms…. 

Avery waved this thought away as if it were no matter. "Anyhow, he's not called Tom Riddle any more. He's going by Lord Voldemort these days." 

"Lord _what?_ " Lucius started laughing at the upstart. The junk dealer that would be king. 

"He's a hell of a wizard, Lucius," Avery urged him. "He knows stuff no one else has even heard of." He glanced around again. "I can bring you to see him." 

"I'll have the honour of meeting Lord Voldemort, the junk collector?" Lucius said doubtfully, smirking. 

"Yeah." 

Avery was still serious. 

Lucius licked his lips. This was going to be amusing. "All right then." He spun the Quaffle between his fingers. "Set up a time." 

~*~*~

A buffeting wind cut through Lucius' cloak. He and Avery flew through the night, high enough in the cloud cover to be completely invisible from the ground. Both of them had been Apparating illegally for the last year, trusting to family influence to keep them out of trouble, but Avery refused to risk attracting the MLE to his friend. Or to tell Lucius where they were going. Which was wise, since Lucius would have simply Apparated there leaving his spluttering friend behind.

Avery's broom dipped to the left, wisps of water vapour passing over his shoulder. He glanced back at Lucius. They emerged from the fog-like clouds and Lucius found himself skimming above the spindly arms of a half-dead forest, wan leaves barely clinging to the branches below. 

Lucius' smile spread as they dove towards the sagging wrought-iron gate of a cemetery. "Lord" Voldemort had a sense of drama. This was going to be not only amusing but possibly quite entertaining, like a sort of show. Leave it to Avery to be impressed by a few unfamiliar spells. 

Lucius only wished he'd worn his black cloak. Just for effect. 

On the cold ground, Lucius stepped off his broom, broad shoulders flexing. He flashed a grin back at Avery. But his friend looked around nervously at Riddle's "Hallowe'en decorations," and hesitated at the entrance. 

The gate was partially buried, and with one hand on the fence Lucius vaulted it easily. Ignoring Avery, he turned and threaded his way through Muggle grave markers and tall headstones. It wasn't hard to tell where they were meant to go. Ahead, a cold blue light poured out of a mausoleum in the centre of the graveyard, illuminating four cracked white marble steps and a swath of brown grass. 

With a snort, Lucius left his boot prints on the weeds of overgrown graves and decided that once they were done tonight, he would never let Avery live this down. They were purebloods and shouldn't fear the bogeyman, or the dead. Fear their _parents_ , maybe. He mentally picked out sarcastic gifts for the holidays. Perhaps one of these tombstones? The occupants couldn't complain. 

The moss on the steps of the mausoleum was slippery and the doors were thrown wide. Lucius shook his head, unimpressed with the secrecy of this so-called "secret" society. He held up a palm to block the brilliant blue light and squinted to see past it into the crypt as he strode forward. 

He reached the top step. He heard Avery's padding footsteps behind him, his panting voice, "Oi! Lucius - wait! Where are you going?" 

All lights went out. 


End file.
